


time's right but the clock's wrong

by geneeste



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU Felicity Smoak, F/M, Felicity Smoak-centric, Gen, LOT 2x16 alternate ending, have I got the fic for you, if you like melodrama and darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10494477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: She can only imagine what she looks like, exhausted and lost and crying silently, staring at two dead men.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what the fuck this is. TW for blood and canon character death. Alternate ending to LOT 2x16 (if they'd gotten the Spear back). Title from Dessa’s “Warsaw.”

When Felicity comes to, she's angry and scared and completely confused.

The last thing she remembers, she'd been captured and was on her knees in front of the man she'd vowed to kill. She’d been fighting pain in her legs, in her chest, wiping blood from her face, and then the lights had gone out, and she was back in the lair.

But the lair the way it used to be, before it all went so wrong.

And not only that, but that bastard Mick Rory was there holding her arm, telling her to take it easy, to look up, and that woman Sara, the one who was going to kill her, was holding the other arm, looking guilty and uncertain.

Struggling is involuntary, all instinct and reflex built over months of fending for herself, but she’s never really had the skills to make a difference. It’s a cruel irony that all her heroes are gone and that simple, useless Felicity remains.

“What the hell?”

She knows that voice. All the molecules in her body freeze at once; it doesn't make sense, because the owner of that voice is gone, has been gone for over a year.

But it is him, somehow. “John?” she asks, not recognizing her own voice, weighed down with grief and disbelief.

John has his gun up, but he drops it immediately when he gets a good look at her, and his face goes blank. “Felicity? What...what happened to you?”

“It's Felicity, but she's not your Felicity,” Sara answers grimly. “It's a long story, but we can explain. Where's Ollie?”

“Right here.” The reply comes as the man in question steps up on the platform, dressed in a plain grey hoodie and looking so _real_.

It's a good thing that the two stooges are holding her up, because hearing his gruff voice sends a wave of pain and weakness through her that threatens to send her back to her knees. _Oh god._ “Oliver.”

He doesn't look the same. He's paler, his hair is longer, and his face is more drawn even than the last time she saw him. He's carrying himself like he's nursing an injury, so that at least is familiar.

But just the fact that he's here, and not where she buried him... _how_?

Oliver stops, takes her in, and his whole body tenses up. “Sara, what the fuck is this? What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything but fix a problem Mick created,” Sara says, eyes darting to Felicity and away. “Still trying to, actually.”

“So am I,” Mick says gruffly, stepping forward and turning toward her. “We don’t have time for explanations. You with us?”

She can only imagine what she looks like, exhausted and lost and crying silently, staring at two dead men. “This isn’t real.”

“It’s real, it’s just a different reality. Yours, it wasn’t right. It was messed up,” for the first time, Mick hesitates, and his low, gravelly voice stumbles. “I messed it up, so I figure I owed you to make it right.”

“But nothing is right. They’re gone,” she says numbly. She looks Oliver in the face, and flinches. “You’re gone, and it’s awful. Nothing is right. I’ve tried, I swear I have, to fight like you did. But nothing I do _matters_ \--”

Hysteria edges in, and she can’t breathe. Oliver moves closer, gaze intense, and he makes a move to touch her, then drops his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, coaxingly, like he’s trying to calm a horse that’s about to bolt. “Whatever happened, I know you did your best.”

“This is how it should have been. Your friends, they’re alive,” Mick tells her. “There’s even another you. The you that lives because the Spear of Destiny hasn’t fucked it all up.”

“Then--” Felicity says, grappling with a mind that has suffered from months of disuse. “Then my world, everything that happened--”

Sara’s grip on Felicity’s arm loosens, becomes more of a caress than a hold. “Never happened,” she says gently. “That world disappeared when we used the Spear of Destiny to correct the timeline.”

In a way that’s a comfort, but in others, it’s not. She looks at Mick, anguish and desperation fueling her words. “Well, bring it back. You have the Spear, you can bring them back. You can make it how it was. _Bring them back._ ”

“I wouldn’t, even if I could,” Mick says bluntly. “ _This_ place, these guys, this is how it was. That world wasn’t supposed to exist.”

All the fight drains out of her, because she knows he’s right. Hadn’t she suspected it? Hadn’t she wished it was true, all those long nights alone in a bunker surrounded by empty seats?

If there’s no going back, what’s the point of all this? “Then why?” she whispers, tears pinging off the metal grates at her feet. “Why bring me here at all?”

“Because it wasn’t fair, what Darhk did to you, and I can fix it. And because you were the last one who could remember. You should see them one last time.”

 _One last time._ So that’s how it is.

“She can stay with me,” John breaks in suddenly. He looks freaked out--she’d forgotten how much he hated all the weird stuff--but determined. “You can stay with me and Lyla. We’ll find somewhere for you.”

Mick doesn’t answer him, turns to her instead. “The blonde, she belongs here. There’s no place for you in this reality, and yours is gone. We can’t bring your world back, but you can still be with your people.” 

Felicity meets Mick’s eyes, feeling, finally, a sense of calm wash over her. A sense of rightness, that this is how things are meant to be. “Okay.”

Mick moves until he's standing in front of Felicity. “It’ll only hurt for a minute, and then you can go.”

Felicity looks past Mick’s shoulder to Oliver, who still seems stunned and lethargic, but he’s _alive_. “I'm ready.”

“Wait,” Sara starts, alarmed and confused, “Mick--”

But he doesn't give her a chance to finish. Before anyone can move, Mick sinks his knife high into Felicity's stomach. She doesn't move away--she accepts it, craves it even--but she can't help the gasp that rushes out as the blade slides in, or the moan of pain that erupts from her chest when it’s pulled back out.

“ _Mick!”_ Sara cries angrily, and Felicity can hardly give a thought to why Sara could possibly care what happens to her now.

When her knees give out, she barely feels them hit the floor. She just manages to keep her balance, though all her body wants to do is lay down. Blood drips down her stomach, but she doesn’t care.

Suddenly Oliver is kneeling in front of her, murmuring comforting words, Diggle at his side, and one or both of them is holding her up. Oliver looks like he's in pain, physical or mental, she doesn't know, but he looks almost exactly like she remembers him. She looks down, sees Diggle's big hand wrapped around hers, and she's not sure if she's laughing or crying. It's been so long, and yet it's still so familiar.

This is the way it was meant to be. She won't be the last one any longer.

“You didn't have to do that,” Sara says from somewhere behind her, voice quavering. “Why did you do that?”

“To pay a debt,” Mick grunts out solemnly. “She died a long time ago. I’m just stopping the clock.”

“Can you--” Felicity sputters to Oliver, liquid rising in her throat and into her mouth. “Please. Please.”

Oliver's beautiful, vibrant face collapses, and he pulls her into his chest, knowing what she was asking for. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

She doesn't understand what he's apologizing for, and everything else is starting to fade away. The cold is creeping in, but she feels warm in his arms. “'S’okay. This is better.”

“S’better,” she repeats, feels him shudder under her cheek. “Miss you.”

He squeezes her, and it hurts, but it's a good hurt.

Mick is standing in the background, blurry and fading, but she needs him to know. “Thank you.” 

As she starts to go, it's all she can say, all she can feel. The gratitude that her family is alive, that she can let Diggle's deep dark eyes ease her, that she can be in Oliver's arms again. That her fight is finally over. “Thank you. Thank you.”

She says it until her lips give out, and then she rests.


End file.
